2041 Sanctuary (Dark Descent) (3 page)

‘Did you experience any undue fatigue when the device was activated for longer than thirty minutes?’ one of the scientists said, peering intently at the two astronauts over the rim of his glasses.

‘We both felt a little tired,’ Tyler looked at Ivan for confirmation, ‘but that may have been due to the intensity of the daily schedule we were adhering to.’

The scientist nodded and jotted something down on his notepad.

Before Tyler could continue, the second scientist asked, ‘Did either of you witness any unusual visual activity during the final testing period?’

Tyler didn’t really understand the question. ‘Such as?’

‘Any hallucinations or disturbances around the module when it was deployed outside of Orbiter One?’

Again Tyler glanced at Ivan who shook his head. ‘Not that we noticed.’

The other scientist once more scribbled something down on his notepad. Tyler was beginning to get an uneasy feeling about the direction the line of questioning was taking and looked to his captain for reassurance. Grim-faced, Bo avoided his gaze.

‘And did either of you encounter any difficulties sleeping or breathing during or after the operation of the machine?’ asked another man at the opposite end of the table, a U.S. military officer who had, until now, remained silent.

Tyler looked around the room. ‘Is there some danger attached to using this device?’ Like Bo, some of them – mainly the NASA employees – avoided eye contact with him, while others looked on impassively. He suddenly understood how a rat might feel when being experimented on by men in white coats, an array of disturbing apparatus close to hand; it was not a pleasant feeling.

‘Of course not, Commander,’ the GMRC woman said. ‘We are just being thorough. We can check through your bio readouts and visual records for the mission at our leisure rather than bore you with any further questions.’

After some final statements everyone handed back the mission reports, which Tyler resealed in the case before handing it to Captain Heidfield, who in turn handed it to the military man who had been the last to question them. As everyone filed out from the room, aided by semi-magnetic footwear for ease of movement, Bo indicated to Tyler that he wanted to speak with him; he moved to one side and waited until they were left alone.

The captain approached him. ‘Follow me, Commander,’ he said and moved off down a deserted corridor, his shoes echoing metallically on the grid flooring. With Tyler at his heels, Bo Heidfield passed through a more populated section of the vessel and then down another confined walkway, its small windows filled with the view of the blighted Earth, its long, curved surface stark against the blackness of space. The next intersection they came across had eight diverging passageways. Two of these offshoots were guarded by four heavily built GMRC security operatives, who moved to bar any entry to the areas beyond. Such restricted access on Archimedes was unheard of and clearly this constraint also seemed to include the captain himself, who neither slowed nor looked in the guards’ direction as he passed.

Tyler, however, found himself gawping at the spectacle and he craned his neck to watch as the eyes of the GMRC men followed his every move until he’d disappeared from view. While projectile weapons aboard a spacecraft were strictly prohibited, for obvious reasons, Tyler had been quick to recognise the advanced Taser and stun gun devices each guard had holstered at their waist. The reason for the animosity towards the GMRC personnel the Archimedes captain had displayed during the debrief suddenly became clear. Not only had the GMRC brought with them armed soldiers, but they had also cordoned off parts of the ship, which even the captain was apparently prevented from accessing.

It wasn’t long until Bo halted his march at a white, nondescript, reinforced hatch. Looking up and down the passage to ensure no one was around, Tyler’s commanding officer tapped in a six digit passcode and swung the door open. Entering, he motioned Tyler to follow. Once they were both inside he shut the door, turning the large wheel attached to its inner skin and locking it in place; the circular handle reached the end of its rotation with a dull thud, the noise echoing in the small room in which they now found themselves ensconced.

Without saying anything further the captain turned on a computer station and fired up a large screen located on one of the walls.

‘Sir, what’s going on?’ Tyler asked. The captain was now accessing some part of the ship’s internal computer system. ‘Why is that section of the ship off limits? Have you seen what they are guarding? And they have weapons too, that’s against one of NASA’s fundamental directives.’

The captain stopped what he was doing while a small dialogue box on the screen read
accessing data feed
in bold green letters. He looked at Tyler with haunted eyes. ‘The GMRC and U.S. military have deemed it in the global and national interest to utilise the USSS Archimedes as a base of operations for some kind of bastardised scientific research programme.’

‘What kind of programme?’

‘The kind that NASA would never sanction unless it was forced upon them. The kind that seals off whole parts of the damn ship and prevents even her captain from knowing what’s been brought on board.’

The computer beeped and an error message popped up on screen. The captain swore and started typing on the keyboard once more. The previous message reappeared:
accessing data feed
.

‘Ten days ago,’ Bo continued, ‘I was contacted by Mission Command at Houston. On a conference call I was informed that the military and GMRC would be requisitioning Archimedes for something we are all too familiar with, Project Ares. Amidst high security a cargo was flown from the surface and placed within the main laboratory modules and access has been limited ever since, with guards like you just saw posted around the clock. Whatever they are doing on this ship one thing is for certain, the safety of every one of my crew has been compromised as a result.

‘Since they arrived, five of our team have experienced vivid nightmares and two have exhibited breathing difficulties. One of our youngest pilots also experienced extreme psychological events and he had to be sedated and, with the rest, sent back to the surface. As far as I was able to ascertain through the official and unofficial channels all of them are under quarantine, pending further tests. A team of doctors has been on board to carry out exams on the rest of us; so far we all seem to be in the clear of whatever it is that’s causing these symptoms.’

‘Jesus,’ Tyler said as he tried to take in what he’d just been told. ‘So what are we doing here?’

Bo glanced at the screen, which still displayed the same message. He looked back to Tyler. ‘Before they took control up here I was informed that the lab was to be cleared and all cameras and recording equipment were to be extracted, barring life support and critical systems sensors. Having to adhere to their request, I cleared the area under GMRC supervision. However, the safety of my crew is my priority, first and foremost, and so in order to find out what they were bringing with them I managed to install a small remote camera with the help of Sandy Turner.’

‘The spacewalk specialist?’ Tyler said.

Bo nodded. ‘When Sandy was on her way out for some routine maintenance I slipped her the device and she positioned it on a limb which has line of sight to the laboratory’s window cluster. Initially I was unable to get a look at whatever they had in there, but my luck changed yesterday when it was repositioned.’

Tyler’s curiosity was peaking, but not in a good way. Whatever was occurring on this space station was tied directly to the machine he and Ivan had been extensively testing on Orbiter One, a piece of equipment intrinsically linked to a project that had already compromised some of the crew’s health, both physically and mentally.

‘Here we go,’ the captain told him as the screen dissolved into a four picture live stream of the outside of the Archimedes main laboratory complex.

Tyler scanned the images for anything unusual. ‘What am I looking for?’

‘There.’ Bo pointed at the bottom right feed. He tapped a couple of buttons and expanded it so it filled the whole screen.

At first Tyler could only see the movement of technicians, all of whom wore white hazmat suits and breathing apparatus. ‘I can’t see—’

‘Wait,’ Bo said, cutting him off and pointing to one particular window.

Tyler watched and then one of the people moved out of the way and he could see part of – something. ‘What is that?’ he said in a hushed tone as he stood transfixed, staring at the screen.

‘I have no idea. It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before.’

‘It looks—’

‘Alive.’

Tyler couldn’t take his eyes off it. ‘Yes.’

‘If you look at the technicians,’ the captain told him, ‘you can see they are documenting their work on a computer terminal on the right hand side of the room. I know ten years back you were tasked with the simulations for all of Archimedes’ internal sensors.’

‘That’s right,’ Tyler said with a small nod of his head, still intently watching the oddity.

‘Are you able to access them and get us some audio to go with this picture?’

Tyler thought for a moment, recalling memories he thought he would never use again.
Yes, I can do that
, he concluded. It was relatively easy for someone who had spent eighteen months fault finding to the nth degree. Taking over the console, he executed a few commands and altered a subroutine and then rerouted the sensor’s signal.

‘That should do it,’ Tyler informed his captain.

Bo turned up the volume on the display.

A strange oscillating noise came through the audio system. At first Tyler thought he had made a mistake, but as he watched the screen once more he realised he had utilised a sensor in the room where the object was located. He also noted that the technicians were wearing some kind of hearing protection underneath their suits; he presumed the noise must have been a lot louder in the room itself.

At that point the sound changed; its pitch made the hairs stand up on the back of his neck and sent an odd tingling sensation running down his spine. A movement in the room dragged his eyes away from the strange vision that had so mesmerised him. The captain, hyperventilating, his breath coming in ragged gasps, had dropped to one knee.

‘Sir, what’s wrong?’ Tyler asked, gripping the man’s shoulders in an attempt to stop him shaking. The audio coming through the room’s speakers changed again and Bo convulsed, froth seeping from his mouth.

‘Sir!’ Tyler shouted in alarm, but he was helpless to do anything as his superior’s legs beat wildly on the floor. Realising the feed from the lab had sparked the fit he slammed the audio off, almost breaking the touchscreen as he did so. Turning back, he saw that Bo now lay unmoving; his eyes open in a fixed stare. Tyler felt for his pulse; there wasn’t one. In a panic-induced state, he made sure the man’s airway was clear, repositioned the body and began CPR. After what seemed like mere moments, but must have been many minutes, he stopped to regain his breath; his arms ached and his head throbbed. He looked down in despair at his long term colleague. Getting unsteadily to his feet, he reached out and hit the emergency response alarm, sending lights flashing and sirens wailing throughout the ship. The captain was dead.

Chapter One

New York City, 2041

Sirens wailed and chirruped, drifting on the wind while red and blue lights pulsed and flickered over the buildings of Manhattan Island as emergency vehicles sped through its troubled and turbulent streets. In the foreboding black skies above, police and civilian helicopters fought a battle of cat and mouse, one seeking to impose a no-fly zone on the other. Ominous storm clouds gathered on the horizon, warning those in its path of the rain to come by bellowing out deep, far reaching claps of thunder and thrusting down dazzling bolts of lightning.

In the centre of this maelstrom of activity a seemingly endless line of large, jet-black, twin propeller helicopters approached from the Hudson River to the east. Emblazoned on their sides was a familiar white logo.

One by one they fell into a holding position around a large circular skyscraper, carrying out an intricate aerial dance while other pilots sought to unload their passengers as quickly as possible while avoiding the next wave coming in to land on the tiered helipads adorning the building’s roof.

Far below, at street level, tens of thousands of protestors had gathered outside the edifice and right in the heart of the chaos, a small, handsome woman stood facing a cameraman. She wore a bright red, fur-lined, three-quarter length hooded trench coat and thick, blue, thermal mittens, her long, dark hair falling in immaculate waves across her shoulders. In one hand she held a clipboard and in the other a microphone. Behind her, an imposing blockade had been erected from metal fencing, steel bollards and – for good measure – heavy-duty plastic and wooden barriers, replete with red and white stripes, each pillar topped with a flashing orange beacon. Behind these obstructions, a vast array of NYPD officers had assembled. Further back, in the shadows, heavily armed U.S. soldiers lurked, assault rifles locked and most certainly loaded, ready and willing to repel any unwanted visitors to the gathering unfolding inside.